


Koi no Yokan

by j_gabrielle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Domestic, Drabble, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-17 00:25:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1367185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something catches in his chest; the start of a feeling Chris long since buried deep in the darkness of his soul, teaching himself that he could do without</p>
            </blockquote>





	Koi no Yokan

**Author's Note:**

> _Koi no Yokan_ (Japanese) - The feeling of not-quite-love-at-first-sight, but the knowledge of a love that will happen in time

It first blossoms at the sight of Isaac moving around his kitchen with ease. Chris pauses in the middle of his reading of the morning paper, watching Isaac pottering with the pans to fix them a late brunch.

"Is something wrong?" Isaac asks quietly from the stove. Smells of pancake and bacon curl around them like familiar friends. 

"No." He replies, folding the paper on the table. Standing, he walks over to Isaac, carefully cataloging the way blue eyes dart nervously around the room before resting somewhere at his throat. "Need help?"

Isaac jerkily scurries to flip the pancake in one pan, sliding sizzling bacon strips into an awaiting plate. "Just... Set the table?"

Chris nods, leaning over to reach the drawer of cutlery.

* * *

Somewhere between mourning Allison and dealing with the hunters from South America, Isaac moves into the room next to his. In the mornings Chris will wake to the sounds of Isaac getting ready for school, and in the night he falls asleep to the sounds of the bed pressed against the wall creaking under the movements of an occupant seeking sleep.

Isaac seems to fold himself into the fabric of Chris' existence with ease and no small amount of grace. Their laundries are done together, Isaac has a shelf in the cabinet, his favourite cereals occupy the space that was Allison's. They talk about what they need to buy when they do their weekly grocery run, talk about the latest cloud of doom to blow into Beacon Hills, wonder about the Hales.

They drive around town some times in the middle of the night, neither speaking as they speed towards the town limits, watching the lights swirl by in a hurricane of neon and fluorescent. School books intermingle with books on dead languages and leathery binds of obscure lore, game nights penciled into their respective day-boxes on the calender by the kitchen sink, a potted plant crops up into place on the window sill and Isaac calls it Ernie.

Somewhere along the line of teaching Isaac how to wield Allison's ring daggers, picking him up from school after practice, lingering in the background of Scott's pack meetings and watching Isaac shift to run in the pale silver full moonlight, Chris thinks something must have shift in the way he sees Isaac. 

* * *

Isaac curls up on the couch as if he is constantly trying to take up as little space as possible. He folds his feet under him, clinging onto the armrest as the movie begins to play. What hits Chris most is the jumper that Isaac is wearing; knitted, frayed in a million places, comfortable as if the wearer is wearing the softest cloud in the sky. _His_ jumper.

"Chris?" Isaac says softly. Chris lets his body melt into the couch.

"Hmm?"

"Thanks. For letting me stay." 

And something catches in his chest; the start of a feeling Chris long since buried deep in the darkness of his soul, teaching himself that he could do without.

(Later when sleep takes Isaac halfway through the movie and he has somehow relaxed long enough to migrate to pillow his head on Chris' lap, he runs his gun-calloused hands through light brown curls. Stroking through slightly damp locks, wondering if he should take Isaac to his personal barber before pushing the thought away in favour of savoring the feel of thick silky tresses slipping through his fingers.)

* * *

 

Chris rearranges his room three weeks after Isaac takes the room next to his. He pushes his bed up against the wall, right where Isaac's is.

Every night he presses his forehead against the coolness of the wall, breathing evenly as he listens to the sound of the body in the other room mirror his position.

He falls asleep to thought of the wall separating them disappearing.

 

 

 

(Every morning he wakes to his heartbeat telling him that there is a blossoming in him. A renewed capacity.)

(And Chris hopes) 

 

 


End file.
